


put your moon in my sun.

by wickedbad



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: Arthur has CRUSH!, Arthur's also an overthinker, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed, Stuck in a storm trope, or more like sharing a bedroll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:58:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedbad/pseuds/wickedbad
Summary: It makes him feel selfish, in a way. Guilty, even. The way he wants for Charles and longs for more, looking for something or another in his grins and the way he touches Arthur’s shoulder from time to time. It drives him wild looking for something he ain’t sure exists. Hoping for something he probably doesn’t deserve. Men like Arthur don’t deserve men like Charles.[Arthur's got a crush and a hunting trip cut short by a storm brings Charles and him closer together - literally.]





	put your moon in my sun.

Arthur had heard about the herd while stopped in Valentine; two hunters had sat themselves down at the bar, talking to each other in between bites of oatmeal early in the morning. Between other things, the hunters had mentioned a rather large herd of elk they had seen out past Valentine, making their way toward Grizzlies West. When the bartender questioned them about returning to score some big game, the men explained they’d already spent too much time up north than they intended and had to make it back east for other work.

 _So it goes_ , one of the hunters had said, and it sounded like the perfect opportunity for the gang to score some meat. At camp, provisions had gone as quickly as they came; Pearson’s stew was lacking anything sustainable for the amount of mouths they had to feed. Since making the journey down from Colter, Arthur had been itching to get back out into the wilderness and occupy himself with something useful. Charles had crossed his mind, and he figured it would be the perfect job for the two of them; truthfully, he had been wanting to spend more time with Charles and learn how to get better with that bow. Besides, Charles was some of the best company he’d had the pleasure of knowing in just the few short months he’d been running with them.

When he’d made it back to camp in the afternoon, Charles had been tending to the horses, oatcakes and a brush in his grasp. Arthur had made the proposition about spending a few days hunting, asking Charles if he’d be up for the challenge of a big herd - which, of course he was. While waiting for Charles to pack up his bag with supplies, Arthur had managed to just avoid an earful from Pearson about the lack of meat he had to work with for his stew - not that the stew was much of anything to work with, anyway. Luckily for everyone else, however, the promise of hearty venison lingered just outside Valentine.

By the time the two of them headed out, evening creeped upon them before they made it through the plains. They had found a few tracks that seemed promising, following a path that matched with what the hunters in the saloon had claimed earlier in the day. It was a fast-moving herd, Charles explained, and that they would have to wake early the next morning to make good time on them. When the sun had slipped beneath the horizon, they decided to set up camp not too far from the flowing banks of the river. The sound of locusts hummed in the distance, and the slight breeze from the night swirled throughout their small camp, rippling through the flames of the campfire. They sat across from one another, each minding his own on opposing sides of the fire; the conversation had mostly died out, talk of the herd’s migration and the poor conditions at camp didn’t prove to be the most riveting of discussions.

“I’m glad I ended up here,” Charles confesses after a pause in conversation, and Arthur finds it to be off-putting; there’s some weight to it that feels out of place coming from a man who is often one to keep to himself.

Still, Arthur can’t help but snort at that. “ _Here_?” He gestures to the vast plains around them, enveloping them in still nature, and his mouth twists into a tight smirk. “In all this… _mess_ we’re in? You’ve got some interestin’ blessin’s, Mr. Smith.”

Charles stares back at him across their humble camp, his expression unreadable. Not that Arthur has ever considered himself to have much of an affinity for intuition, but there’s something about Charles’s knack for masking his emotions that _would_ irritate Arthur if he wasn’t so utterly fascinated by him.

Charles shrugs his shoulders, fiddling with the knife in his grasp, “Beats how it used to be. S’not so bad… Met some decent people,” He trails off at the end, something left unsaid disappears into the night.

Arthur notices - of course he does - but he’s good at pretending he doesn’t. It’s a trick of the trade, he figures - something he’s picked up over the years of learning to keep his nose out of places it doesn’t belong. Instead, he rubs at the nape of his neck and, for the life of him, can’t think of anything useful to say.

“Ya think we’re gonna have any luck?” He eventually manages, unable to stomach the quiet. Any other time, silence finds its place amongst them, settling and making a home of itself there, and he likes it that way; he doesn’t often feel the need to talk to Charles just to talk - to keep the air from turning stiff. If he had to guess, he’d say that’s why he’s taken such a liking to Charles over the last bit here - that, among other things.

Charles squints at him across the fire, looking up from his knife sharpening. “At making it out of this mess or at hunting?”

“Huntin’,” Arthur breathes out a laugh, “But I reckon I could ask the same ‘bout both.”

“Think we’ll do okay,” Charles doesn’t play into the mood, but it feels like an answer to both ends of the question. He keeps his gaze low, a steady eye on the knife in his hand, grazing against the leather strop he’s holding. “With the tracks we saw today, I’d say we’re closing in. Something’s driving them further away, though - might be a storm coming.”

Arthur frowns, “Ain’t seen any clouds all day.”

“The wind,” Charles glances at him and blinks, “Noticed it earlier. And, the smell. Sorta smells like rain.”

“Huh,” Arthur muses, amused by Charles, and takes a sniff of the crisp night air; he’s discovered that there is always something to learn from him. He doesn’t have much to add after that; Charles doesn’t appear to be in much of a talking mood, and he could say the same for himself, despite the unease that’s started to settle in his stomach. There’s something gnawing away at him, something he’s been trying to ignore for quite some time now.

Still, Charles lingers by the campfire longer, filing his knife against the strop instead of turning in for the night. They sit like that for a while, that comfortable silence finding its place between them again. Arthur thumbs open his journal, tapping his pencil against the next blank page. There’re a few scribbles of animals in the margins on the page before; he’d seen a woodpecker with bright red markings earlier in the day while they were riding, and something about the little guy perched on that branch stuck with him. He’d thought about it when they had stopped to rest the horses, and he sketched out the bird without much time to fill in the finer details. Now, though, his fingers were stirring, itching for something to keep them busy.

Across their small camp, Charles clears his throat, and Arthur eyes him; he’s moved on from sharpening his knife, settling instead for fiddling with some arrows he’s pulled out of his bag. In the firelight, his skin glows, and Arthur catches a glimpse of his warm eyes darting back-and-forth every few beats. He’s a real sight, Arthur thinks, and there’s something about him that settles the unease in his stomach. Without thinking much about it, his pencil gets to moving, starting by outlining the shape of Charles’s hunched body on paper.

“Never have asked what you’re always doing in that journal,” Charles’s voice snaps him back, breaking the silence, and he’s keenly aware of his derailed interest. Something close to embarrassment washes over him, and he lets his hand hover over his drawing, his pencil wavering above where it had been shading in the texture of Charles’s hair.

He clears his throat, tapping his pencil against the page, making sure to look anywhere except at Charles, “Just drawin’.”

“Hm,” Charles hums; he doesn’t ask to see the drawing, which Arthur appreciates. Whenever he manages to find a few moments of peace at camp to work in his journal, there’s always someone prodding, hovering over his shoulder trying to get a glimpse at the pages. Though, Charles isn’t like that - of course he isn’t, there ain’t anyone like Charles. He’s a man who knows how to read an expression and mind his business, not one to ask questions that don’t need answers. Not one to stick his nose in a place it doesn’t belong. And, Christ, if that isn’t one of the best things about him, Arthur thinks.

Arthur looks up and watches Charles, who glances across the fire with his mouth twisted into a small grin that crinkles at his eyes. It’s genuine and perhaps the most bona fide thing Arthur figures he’s seen in a while. After a few still beats, he inhales, only then realizing he’s been holding his breath in his chest for some time now. He wants to draw that grin, commit it to paper so he can never forget it, but the moment’s passed. It’s more just a feeling now, and he’s not sure he’d be able to draw it in a way that could capture how it made him feel. If he’s being honest, which he can’t say he is often, he figures there ain’t much in the world quite like the way Charles makes him feel. Seems like they haven’t come up with the words for it yet.

Though, it makes him feel selfish, in a way. Guilty, even. The way he wants for Charles and longs for more, looking for _something_ or another in his grins and the way he touches Arthur’s shoulder from time to time. It drives him wild looking for something he ain’t sure exists. Hoping for something he probably doesn’t deserve. Men like Arthur don’t deserve men like Charles.

It takes some time before the scratching of graphite against paper is the only sound left to be heard at their small camp. The back-and-forth movements of his hand turn into lines that come together to capture Charles’s image, and he distantly thinks maybe he should draw Charles more often.

Now, Charles has put away his arrows and knife, and he’s stretching out his bedroll, keeping it to his side of the camp. “Get some rest,” He says, that gentle nature of his settling into his voice. “We’ll be up early if we wanna make good time on this herd.”

Across their camp, Arthur nods, stuffing his journal into his satchel. “Yeah,” He mumbles, shuffling about on his side of the fire, smoothing out his own bedroll. He gets as comfortable as he figures he’s going to be and lays on his back, staring up at the night sky thinking about how nice the stars look when he’s got someone to share them with.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Charles’s voice is laced with fatigue, ready to slip into a short rest before getting back to hunting in the morning.

Arthur’s mouth twitches, and he barely even registers the feeling of his lips forming a soft grin. “Night, Charles.”

* * *

They’d packed up camp and headed out early the next morning, not too long past dawn; the two of them rolled their bedrolls and saddled up on their horses, heading further north along the river. Along the riverbank, they’d followed the tracks from the herd as Charles explained to Arthur the various signs he could pick up on to tell which direction animals were heading and things of similar nature.

Throughout the years, people had come and gone from his life - either by choice or by other means - and Arthur had learned the hard way that getting close to folks was a gamble. It had taken years to warm up to some of the people he’d been running with, yet it took just a few short months with sparse conversation to reach a place of comfort with Charles. Of all these faces he had known and some since forgotten, not a single one offered anything quite like Charles; no one else he had ever met garnered such a gift for hunting and passion for the natural world. He was unique like that and one of the best men he’d ever known.

When they’d made it into Grizzlies West, the sky had darkened, and the wind had picked up from the chilly breeze it had been in the morning. The temperature had dropped throughout the day, which both of them had taken notice to a few hours into their ride up the river. The herd’s tracks had been getting more difficult to follow and rain had started to fall - water mixing with earth that covered most prints left behind. Though, they trekked on, tugging at their coats and shouting against the wind whenever they needed to speak. It wasn’t much sooner after that the rain turned to storm accompanied by a heavy mist that inhibited their sense of direction. Charles had shouted something about needing to find a place to wait out the storm, and they carried on a bit further, eventually stumbling across a small den hollowed out into the side of a large rock formation not too far off from the riverbank. When they arrived, the rain had turned heavier, and Charles offered to hitch the horses somewhere safe, instructing Arthur to make do with whatever materials he could find in the cavern to start a fire.

Now, it’s been a good bit since Charles headed out to stable the horses; the rain has quickened, pelting against the rocky exterior of the den, misty gusts of wind swirling leaves throughout the inside. A clap of thunder roars in the distance, accompanied by darkening clouds that loom above the Ambarino horizon. Arthur glances back out into the storm, noticing the hard rain has started to mix with ice, and distantly thinks that it’s by pure luck they managed to find shelter when they did; any more time spent in that mess would’ve turned bad fast, especially for the horses. The herd’s long gone by now, and those tracks will be impossible to follow after the storm has passed with all that mud. It’s a damn shame too, he thinks, they really could’ve used that meat. His stomach growls at the thought of it, longing for something other than canned perishables and stew.

He glances around the cavern, and there isn’t much to work with to start a fire; the wind is blowing in the wrong direction, stirring wet debris across the cavern floor. With a sigh, he paces back to the opening of the den, hovering by the threshold as the wind and small chunks of hail slap against his face. The flaps of his coat waver back-and-forth in the wind, and he tugs at the fabric, bundling himself tighter into the meager warmth of his clothing. There’s no sign of Charles out in the storm, and he curses to himself, wishing he had agreed to hitch the horses with him.

Not one for assuming the worst, Arthur shakes his head and runs a hand through his damp hair, his fingers working through a tangle in the strands. The smell of rain wafts through the den as the storm rages stronger; it’s a real nasty one they’ve managed to get themselves stuck in, and he thinks back on Charles’s prediction from the night before. Smart man, he is - able to call a storm before the clouds even start to roll in. Though, it doesn’t sit well with him that Charles is still out in the brunt of it. He rubs at his chin and ventures to the back of the cavern, keeping his back turned to the wind. In front of him, he pulls together a pile of damp sticks and leaves, determined to get some kind of warmth going so they don’t spend the night teeth-chattering and shivering. Digging into his satchel, he scourges for a match, trying to get the flame to catch onto the tinder.

Outside, Charles wanders closer to the opening of the den, fighting against the harsh wind as he moves quickly; he wraps his coat tighter around his body, grimacing and shielding his face from the rain and ice pelting against it. The wind swirls his hair, sticking it to his skin. Raising his voice against the storm, he calls out into the hollow, most of his words lost in the wind, “... horses… hitched…”

The broken sound of Charles’s voice, rugged against the wind but still comfortingly familiar, eases that worry inside of him. In response, he offers a nod, eyes focused on the match and debris before him. He blows against the smoke, cursing as the flame from the match fails to catch against the damp tinder. It wasn’t like he stood much of a chance against the elements, anyway - not with a monster like the one outside.

“Damned thing,” He curses lowly, tossing the burnt-out match to the ground. “Been tryna get us a fire goin’ and the damned wind won’t let up long ‘nuff to get it started,” He scowls, waving toward the opening of the cavern.

Charles glances over his shoulder, squinting back into the storm, then frowns as he faces the remnants of the attempt beside Arthur. “Don’t think you’re gonna have much luck… Wind’s blowing right in here; a spot against the wind would’ve been better, but…” He trails off, teeth chattering as he tugs tighter on his coat, bundling himself inside of it.

“Ain’t had much of a choice,” Arthur mutters and shrugs, gesturing emptily to the weather outside. As he lifts himself from the ground, his boot slips on a pile of wet leaves, but he manages to catch himself against Charles’s sudden grasp. He mumbles out a ‘thanks’ and stumbles forward, feeling around in the dark for anything to support him that’s not wet. “This thing’s a nasty one.”

“Yeah,” Charles agrees, leaning against the wall behind him. “Clouds ain’t lighter any direction - reckon we’ll be in here the rest of the night.”

Arthur sighs, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and another shiver courses through him while he keeps his gaze low. “Fine by me,” He reaches for the lantern he managed to snag from his horse before leaving the horses with Charles, and he uses his body as a shield against the wind to light the fuse, hopeful as he turns the knob. “Gonna be a cold one with no fire; it’s damn freezin’ out there… Noticed some ice not too long ‘fore you got back.”

“Mhm,” Charles hums as he glances around the den, the humble light from the lantern flickering, its shadow dancing against the cavern walls; it’s just bright enough so that he can catch a glimpse of Arthur’s expression, watching as he chews at his bottom lip and scratches at his chin.

“I… I’ll keep watch first you- you get some rest,” Arthur swallows hard, blundering as he gestures to the cavern floor. Not that he thinks any trouble is going to find its way to them in this mess, but it feels like the right thing to offer.

Charles stares back at him, that same unreadable expression plastered on his face. “No need for that,” Before Arthur can protest, he continues, patiently: “Temperature’s gonna keep dropping as it gets darker… No fire means only warmth we’ve got is each other.”

Arthur’s throat tightens at that, his breath hitching in his chest. That unease he’s gotten all too comfortable with this past little bit settles back inside of him, making a home there. He rubs at the nape of his neck, shifting his weight as he keeps his gaze anywhere beside Charles. “Yeah, sure… Sure…”

“Survival over comfort,” Charles adds with a shrug, and Arthur wonders for a moment if he picked up on his unease; though, if he did, he probably noticed for the wrong reason. Sleeping close to another man was something Arthur wouldn’t think twice about in any other situation; there’d been plenty of times he had to bunk with other folks while on the run, nothing strange about it, neither. The thought of sleeping beside Charles, however, made his stomach flutter with a strange sense of anticipation that felt foreign to a man of his age.

“Sure,” Arthur bobs his head in agreement, sucking on his teeth as he does. Not like he can say no to a proposition like that – not when the cold is nipping at his skin, feeling like a cool burn. _Damned fool_ , he thinks, and focuses back on the weather outside.

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY I've posted something again!! I've been working on this idea since like early December and here's the first part!! I've already written the second chapter, but I've gotta fix it up a little bit so hopefully sometime next week I'll post it <33 It took me way too long to post again, but truthfully I felt like I needed to reinvent my writing style, and it took a little bit to figure that out, but I'm pretty ok with this!!
> 
> Beta'd by [Fireplanetz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireplanetz/pseuds/fireplanetz)!!
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading!!


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